


There is more in a fairy tale than just a happy ending

by Cuits



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuits/pseuds/Cuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Aurora was Diaval's Little Fledgling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is more in a fairy tale than just a happy ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/gifts).



1

 

The night of the day Aurora is a month short of her first birthday, the moon is full and bright and its metallic white light falls onto the trees and the bushes and the stones of the forest. There are no clouds in the summer sky, not a trace of wind that would shake the leaves and the branches as the warmth of the soil and the rocks warms up the woods.

 

Diaval lowers his flight and barely stumbles as his mistress changes his shape with the snap of her fingers, his beautiful feathers exchanged for gangly legs and arms; it’s a destabilizing feeling that he doesn’t hate half as much as he used to. He is a clever bird after all; he has come to appreciate the strength of this human body, and the uncommon usefulness of prehensile opposed thumbs.

 

“You are late,” she says. Her voice is harsh and cutting, and her chin is up high in a way that others instinctively fear. “I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.”

 

Diaval bows his head a little in reverence, as submissive with his manners as his words could never be.

 

“Forgive me, Mistress. I hadn’t realized how indispensable my presence was to you.”

 

Maleficent arches a single eyebrow in a gesture so disdainful that could turn lesser creatures into sand. “Indispensable?”

 

“Have I aimed too high?  Essential, perhaps?”

 

Diaval sees her sincere smile behind the mischief  others imagine when she fails to hide her amusement.

 

“You still aim too high.”

 

He smiles, pleased and sardonic. “A bird trait, I’m afraid.” And he bends at his midsection as he have seen others do in the presence of their ruler. “And how is the white fledgling this fine night?”

 

Maleficent rolls her eyes and exhales soundly in faked nuisance. “That blonde nightmare is still crawling around like the little beast she is.”

 

The little cottage is noisy and illuminated in the forest night and they both look at the shadows projected against the windows when, as if on cue, little Aurora crawls through the front door without being noticed by her three distracted guardians.

 

“She will be a teenager before she learns to walk properly.” Maleficent barely moves her finger and her magic gathers up in the thin air around Aurora, helping her on her own two little feet as if two gentle hands were holding her.

 

Aurora takes a step and then two, her giggles so contagious that Diaval smiles and laughs softly without wit or snark, and he knows if he were to look at Maleficent, he would find her as moderately content as she ever allows herself to be.

 

Gently, almost like the caress of a feather, Maleficent pulls back her magic and Aurora manages to take a couple of unassisted steps before stumbling and falling back to the ground as gracefully as a girl her age can ever do.

 

"She is hopeless," Maleficent announces in frustration. "Diaval, teach her how to walk."

 

He frowns in confusion. He has fed her, rocked her to sleep with bird's lullabies and on more than one unpleasant occasion, even changed her diapers, but this request seems completely unreasonable. "Me, Mistress? But how can I teach to others what has never been taught to me?”

 

She sighs, deeply and theatrically and just takes half a step back turning away from the cottage and the little prairie in front of it where Aurora still sits under the starry sky.

 

"Then teach her how to fly for all I care. I just can’t take the mud on her knees and hands anymore," she says and crosses her arms over her chest, her chin high in the night air as if mud was the greatest of indignities.

 

Diaval takes one step and then another, tentatively, giving her time enough to rethink this completely ill-conceived plan. “But, what if the fairies—”

 

“I would take care of them,” Maleficent interrupts him, with an impatient gesture. “Go and make yourself useful.”

 

“I’m always useful,” he murmurs more than a little offended, as he makes his way through the little prairie and kneels beside the little princess. Aurora seems to recognize him, agitatedly moving her hands around and trying to grab his face and Diaval tries as hard as he has ever tried anything in his life not to be uncommonly pleased by that fact.

 

He lets the fledgling grab his forefingers as she tries to get up on her feet mostly on her own.

 

“Why can’t she learn by herself? Like a baby deer or a little lamb?” he asks when he senses Maleficent presence getting close behind him.

 

“Because she is weak and hopeless.”

 

Diaval makes a noncommittal sound and stands up carefully in front of Aurora as she still grabs  
his hand for support. “You are not hopeless, are you Little Fledgling?” He takes a couple steps back and Aurora walks forward with clumsy steps. “Nor are you weaker than a cub, aren’t you?” Carefully and slowly he smiles brightly at the girl as he takes one of his hands out of her reach. “You just need a little confidence boost, that’s right, come on, Little Fledgling, fly!”

 

Diaval keeps smiling and takes another couple of steps back, no longer having any hold on Aurora but extending his arms towards her, inviting and full of the promise of a steady hold. “Come on, Little Fledgling, “ he encourages her again, “you can do it!”

 

Aurora laughs as if she were the happiest child in the world and takes one awkward little step on her own after another, her chubby hands extended towards Diaval and her eyes bright with excitement.

 

When she finally manages to grab Diaval again, her laugh is even more contagious and the former bird takes her up into his arms and throws her up into the air in celebratory reward. Aurora’s hair shines with the reflected light of the full moon and as Maleficent takes a deliberate step towards them, the rest of the darkened forest seems to hold its breath.

 

“Well, well,” she says, “aren’t you two quite the pair.”

 

Her façade is stoic and cold but Diaval can see the smallest insinuation of a smile on her mouth and the shine of amusement in her eyes as the shadows and the moonlight play with her features. She looks terrifying and mesmerizing all at the same time, but Diaval has never been a cowardly bird and so he swings Aurora in his arms with just the tiniest bit of defiance in his demeanour.

 

“We are indeed, aren’t we Little Fledgling?” and he swings Aurora in his arms as he walks and turns around the prairie and the little girl laughs and laughs, babbling her enthusiasm and if he thinks he hears Maleficent laugh, he is clever enough not to point it out as his feet dance around under the moonlight.

 

——————

 

2.

 

He flies expertly around the cliffs and the valleys of the Moors in the early morning, when the wind is still chilly under his wings and the creatures of the day are still as sleepy or asleep as they can be. He learns to keep an eye on most of them, all of those that have a recurrent sleeping spot or that are not shy to repeat their routine every single morning. Diaval pays attention to their well-being as much as he meticulously inspects the magical defences of the land in search of breaches or weak spots.

 

It’s breakfast time in the castle by the time Diaval arrives there. He lurks from window to window in search of the oddity among oddities that form the humans daily chores. He pays special attention to whichever madness has the dubious honor of being the current obsession of the King, of course, and when he’s done, he goes to reports back to his Mistress. He flies away from humans and magical beings and heads towards the deepest part of the forest, where the sunlight gets through the scarce empty spaces left between leaves. It warms the cool air under the shadows of millenary trees and makes the river shine as the soft breeze of the days of early summer carefully sways the branches.

 

Diaval loves shiny things, and nothing is as shiny as Aurora’s golden hair catching the light or Maleficent’s bright eyes and lips and horns as she tries to hide away.

 

He doesn’t caw to warn of his presence, doesn’t fly to Maleficent’s shoulder as soon as he catches sight of her but instead, his claws clench around the branch of an oak tree and watches them be with a growing affection warming him up from within.

 

Aurora is almost eight years old by now and growing healthy, which he considers it’s to his kind-of-parental-skills’ credit, given the dangerous ineptitude of the three fairies. She looks around with interest, at the grey rocks, the brown trunks and the green grass, in search of the spot where every colour is a little darker and then she runs towards it, her laugh keeping her from being subtle or quick enough to reach the shadow of Maleficent before she is already gone.

 

His Mistress is never too far away, carefully advancing with her walking stick with a grace unknown to most and as he takes a look from his vantage point above, Diaval wonders—not for the first time—what a sight she might have been among the clouds and the stars, navigating through her most natural element.

 

He observes them as quietly as a raven can while they play this particular version of hide and seek. Maleficent notices him from the corner of her eye and with the effortless snap of her fingers commands the bushes behind her to grow, so tall and so thick, that not even a horse could go through them.

 

“Tell me,” she says with another clasp of her fingers, turning him into a human once more.

 

“The Moors keep being safe, the castle keeps being madness, Mistress,” he says as he does every day when there is nothing remarkable enough to mention. He bows his head to her and she nods just once in complacent acceptance.

 

From the other side of the wall of vegetation they can hear the futile attempts of Aurora trying to reach them and Maleficent smiles—Diaval can tell—almost against herself, and he really has no other option than to smugly raise an eyebrow in challenge.

 

“What?” she says in that terrifying tone of voice that doesn’t terrify him at all.

 

“I didn’t say a word.”

 

Maleficent starts to walk away to their usual spot, where they can see clearly the cottage Aurora lives in and its surroundings. Diaval walks behind her, the thick wall of bushes thinning out and shrinking away as they both leave the place.

 

“You look like you want to say something.”

 

“I merely intended to profusely apologize for interrupting such an obvious display of hatred and despise, Mistress,” he says managing to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his tone. “The force of your loathing is a frightening thing. If I had my beautiful feathers right now they would be standing on en—”

 

He doesn’t quite get to finish the sentence before the feeling of an electrical shock of magical nature suddenly running through his entire body startles him enough to make him shut up and jump on the spot.

 

Maleficent just looks back at him over her right shoulder, her bright, red smile probably visible from afar. “For a devoted servant, you surely are quite cheeky, Diaval.” He runs his hands over his arms and legs, as far and wide as he can without missing steps, trying to get rid of the remaining goosebumps. “I made myself a devoted servant, not a brainless pet. That’s what dogs are for,” he says with just a little bit of a temper only to hear her laugh.

 

They arrive to their favourite spot at the lower crag. There the vegetation is soft and fresh and the millenary tree that has made the place its home offers them cover and shelter with comfortable, leafy branches. She takes her usual seat on the higher step of a stair-like rock, her back perfectly straight and her chin high as if she had been born more queen than fairy, and  
Diaval spends a couple of heartbeats looking at her before sitting at another step at her feet.

 

Below them, the cottage seems to be catching fire, which truth to be told, is not such an unusual occurrence; to put three of the silliest creatures of the Moor and beyond in charge of a baby must account as proof enough of King Stephan’s madness. Maleficent rolls her eyes and puts an end to the flames with her magic before they make any real damage.

 

“She is a curious Little Fledgling,” Diaval says as he observes Aurora moving around the  
forest with ever-present awe.

 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Maleficent answers without commenting furthermore. Her long slender fingers find his raven-like hair and she begins to absently caress it, as she sometimes does with the feathers of his head.

 

Little Aurora comes across a tall berry bush and before Maleficent has the chance to magically help her, she arranges a couple of sticks tied with a reed to use as a hook and bring the high, ripe berries to her.

 

“She is also clever, and obviously pretty," says Diaval ignoring how Maleficent's fingers suddenly stop their movement. "I think she takes after me.”

 

“You know you are not the Beasty’s real father,” her voice is soft, as if this fact spoken out loud could somehow hurt him. And Diaval might have been hurt, once, when he was young and foolish, before curses and human limbs, before the scars that mar his chest.

 

“Her real father, as you like to call him, is a corrupted madman that never watched over her.” The implications that the girl could have inherited some of the King’s cruelty taste sour on his tongue. “Oh, and look,” he says pointing loosely with a swift movement of his chin to where Aurora is using the same hook to prank her caretakers, tipping them on their right shoulder while standing at their left side, “she has a sense of humour.” He looks back to give Maleficent a significant look. “She definitely takes after me.”

 

Up high the sun is starting to turn the day into an evening and the time is coming for them to go back to the Moors.

 

“We are going back home now, Diaval,” she says using her staff to get up without stumbling. “Say your goodbyes to our Little Fledgling.”

 

The air gets trapped inside Diaval’s lungs for the tiniest part of a moment before he recovers enough to act as if using that particular possessive pronoun didn’t have all the implications it has.

 

“See you tomorrow, Graceful One,” he whispers to the air and if Maleficent doesn’t say anything of her own, she surely stands besides him until the wind has taken his words away.

 

—————

 

3

 

There are hundreds of tiny spikes piercing the flesh under his scales, chains entangled around his legs and thick smoke everywhere that doesn’t quite let him know what is truly happening. As soon as Maleficent flies away breaking the window’s glass in a thousand pieces and carrying king Stephan with her, the throne room becomes suddenly still, like the iron chains and the iron soldiers in the room have suddenly lost their true purpose and Diaval is tired, so tired of this tale of injustice and revenge that he breathes deeply and quietly surrenders.

 

This dragon form is strange to him, his front reptile paws making an unusual pillow as he lowers his head while a dozen of minuscule chains cross over his back in a relatively futile attempt to keep him secured and down.

 

The smoke starts to dissipate and clean, fresh air begins to fill in the room through the shattered window, and that’s when he sees her, trembling, tiny and blonde as ever, Aurora stands in the grand room demandingly grabbing the arm of one of the soldiers who insists to keep on shooting inconsequential arrows at his hard skin. Her eyes are full of tears and her nose red and wet as she shouts something that is unintelligible to him in the distance.

 

Something fierce and enraged ignites within him at the very same moment that the  
soldier frees his arm from Aurora’s hold with a careless shove, sending her away and to the floor. He has not spent the last sixteen years putting that little girl out of harm’s way to let a brute hurt her while he takes a well-deserved nap.

 

He concentrates his strength on his back, arching it till it frees from the chains and has room enough to manoeuvre and liberate the rest of his impressive self.

 

Diaval takes two steps, not more is needed to reach Aurora, and curls his reptile tubular body around her, threatening with his pointy teeth and fire breath to whomever dares to try to get close to them, using his strong tail to keep his backside free of soldiers.

 

“They don’t intent to hurt me,” she says softly only meant for his ears as she caresses his flank. Diaval believes her, he really does, but experience has taught him that humans are not altogether quite as trustworthy as they may seem and this bunch of men, soldiers under the orders of mad Stephan, are not currently ranking very high on his good graces.  

 

“I am Princess Aurora!” she says at the top of her lungs.“I am your princess and I command you to stop fighting!”

 

It happens almost at the same time that Maleficent comes back to the throne room, her wings as magnificent as Diaval has always imagined them to be. There are no chains of any kind tied to her body and she seems mostly unharmed.

 

“King Stephan is dead!” she shouts to the soldiers. “The fight is over!”

 

In a confused state of consternation the soldiers begin to accept defeat, to lay down their iron weapons and present their hasty respects to their new ruler before heading out, in search of their families, food and sleep, all of the things that the king had taken from them.

 

“Come, Aurora,” says Maleficent at last when there are mostly just them left in the room. “You must rest.”

 

She claps her fingers and turns him back into a man again without much of a second thought. As soon as she is free from the protection of his dragon body Aurora runs towards Maleficent and hugs her, her arms around the fairy’s waist with strength. Diaval can finally take a deserved, deep, satisfied breath and looks at them. Aurora’s blond hair contrasting starkly against the dark of Maleficent’s beautiful wings. _Wings_. So much contained in such a little word.

 

“Can we go to the Moors now, Godmother?” Maleficent smiles and caress her blonde hair while Diaval gets near them.

 

“I’m sorry, my Dear, not tonight. You have to be with your people.”

 

Aurora’s arms leave Maleficent and almost taking him by surprise, she hugs him the same way she was hugging Maleficent mere seconds ago.

 

“But you are my people, too” says Aurora and it’s impossible for Diaval not to hug her back.

 

“And you are ours, Beasty, but tonight this kingdom has lost a monarch and needs its princess, there will be time to go to the Moors tomorrow. Come on, Diaval and I will walk you to your room.”

 

The hallways of the castle are mostly empty but for a couple of servants that smile at the young princess and hastily take off. There is no sign of grief anywhere, no one seems to want to cry for the late king inside the walls of his own castle.

 

There is no mistake about which one is Aurora’s room; there are shelves full of toys she has outgrown and her name embroidered on every conceivable textile surface. Not for the first time, Diaval thinks with sadness of Aurora’s mother, forced to marry a man that was to be consumed by his own sins and convicted to a life without her child for reasons beyond herself.

 

“Would you two stay with me?” asks Aurora as she sits on the majestic bed and in that moment Diaval forgets she is almost a woman—almost a queen—and can only see the little girl who waited for him by the cottage’s window to go play in the woods.

 

“For as long as you want,” he replies.

 

There is a little room attached to Aurora’s bedroom, it has a table set with a variety of colourful drinks and an ample and comfortable settee whose purpose is, of course, for the visits to wait for the gracious presence of the princess. Still, it’s convenient and it’s near and it’s where they both retire as soon as Aurora closes her eyes.

 

Diaval sits on the far end of the settee, his back straight and his eyes fixed ahead of him on an unimportant spot on the stone wall. He can feel Maleficent sitting next to him, he can feel her warmth and her light mood and her _wings_ , so new to him as familiar to her; he can feel her look at him and even her uncontainable smile.

 

“What?” she asks as she has done so many times before.

 

“I think I deserve a little gratitude,” he says without taking his eyes off of the stupid stone. “‘You were right about true love, Diaval’ or ‘I couldn’t have done without you, Diaval’,” he says mimicking her. “And while we are at it, three different shapes should be the maximum amount for a day. This going from horse to human to raven to dragon in the span of a bird song shall have to stop.” He turns his head to her, the resolve of his indignation faltering in the presence of her radiant, happy demeanour. “It is not a funny thing! One’s insides get uncomfortable and the bones make this weird, little—”

 

Maleficent cuts his ranting by kissing him. Her red, full lips pressing warmly against his  
own and his mind goes completely blank at the sensation.

 

“You were right about true love. Diaval,” she says extremely slowly, extremely close to his own mouth. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Diaval.” He can feel the pronunciation of every word on his lips. “And from now on, you can be whichever shape you choose.”

 

Her eyes are brighter than ever, so close that are almost impossible to see. “Right now, I think I favour this one.” Because ravens can’t kiss, not like this, not with the promise of more to come that hides in her smile.

 

“Clever bird,” she says, and kisses him again.

 

———————-

 

4

 

Aurora’s seventeenth birthday calls for the greatest ball the court can remember, there is food enough to feast ten kingdoms, sweet wine and beer to calm the thirst of the finest palates and candles and fairy flames illuminating every shadow and corner of the castle, which proves to be a most unfortunate occurrence since neither Maleficent nor Diaval seem to be allowed any minute of hiding in peace.   

 

The peasants obnoxiously pat on the head the kind-hearted trolls as if they were attractions for them to enjoy instead of neighbours; some noblemen gaze in awe at the fairies’ grace as a small group exhibit complicated dances for the crowd, and all of them, men and women, magical or otherwise seem to share nothing in their disposition but two things: their love for the young queen and their distrust of Maleficent.

 

Diaval doesn’t remember being so uncomfortable in his flesh since he was turned into a  
filthy dog.

 

“We seem to be the drop of water in the oil jar,” he murmurs for Maleficent’s ears only. She smiles sweetly, her radiant smile just as bright as her evening gown. “Some people need time.”

 

He sees a passing woman with an iron-made corset eyeing them suspiciously out of  
the corner of her eye. “And some people are just uselessly brainless,” he says contemplating how a corset could prevent anyone from strangling her.

 

“I’m afraid you are becoming cantankerous with age,” says Maleficent with an edge that some might had taken for disdain.

 

“We can’t all be as undaunted by the pass of time as my Mistress.”

 

These are terms of endearment to them, this playful banter and biting words that sharpen their armours. They are both aerial creatures after all, and everybody knows there is nothing as unbreakable and soft as the wind.

 

Soon the crowd starts to part and bow in the distance as Aurora makes her way to  
them. She looks radiant, sweet and graceful in her pretty, soft dress and her demeanour cheerful and gentle as always.

 

“Are you two enjoying your stay?” she asks as she takes Maleficent hand in hers.

 

“Well, this time we are not being poked with iron spears like the last one.” he grumbles without resentment. “I’d say that’s an improvement.”

 

Maleficent chuckles and holds tighter Aurora’s hands in silent encouragement. “Don’t mind him, it’s a lovely ball.” She leans in then and drops her voice though not enough for Diaval not to hear her. “Wearing colourful clothes makes him hostile.”

 

Diaval takes a look at his formal wear, all blue and grey and grunts with indignation as Maleficent and Aurora laugh together.

 

“Come, Diaval, dance with me,” pleads the girl taking his hand in hers.

 

“I’m very sorry Little Fledgling,” he says intentionally eyeing Maleficent, “I’m afraid I’m too cantankerous to dance.”

 

“Oh, but we both know that’s not true,” she says as she charms him to the dance floor.

 

He relents and respectfully bows before following her lead, dancing around with her among loud whispers and cheeky looks from courtiers and farmers that only make him prouder of this precious little girl.

 

“So tell me,” he says with a conspirator demeanour, “is young Prince Phillip around here? Has he tried to kiss you while unconscious again?” he asks just wary enough.

 

“Phillip has behaved like a perfect gentleman.”

 

“That might not be very reassuring given that we are supposedly surrounded by perfect gentlemen and I don’t see any kindness in them.”

 

He turns her around and catches her back into his arms again. Aurora smiles, the indulging, wise smile that is somehow more beautiful than the others.

 

“We all benefit from the granting and taking of second chances. Maleficent taught me that. You taught me that.”

 

“Very well, Little Fledgling.” He kisses her softly on the cheek, her skin still as soft as when she was barely more than a baby. “Let’s give these peasants a second chance to admire the grace of the best of dancers. And their queen too.”

 

When the dance is over and Aurora has returned to dutifully attend her citizens, Diaval takes his chance to wander around the great hall, he strolls slowly, following the architecture of the walls, picking at the food and the drinks in his way. He salutes with a little bow of his head to everyone and anyone that crosses paths with him and even finds himself in enough of a good mood to establish a couple of polite conversations, at least until he sees a familiar face trying to remain inconspicuous in a well illuminated corner.

 

Well, he certainly can sympathize with the feeling.

 

“Good night, Prince Phillip,” he says bowing his head as a proper salute requires. “Tell me, has the crowd decided to give you the untrustworthy treatment too by association?”

 

“Good night, Diaval. No I’m just… I’m taking a break from the attention.”

 

Diaval smiles sideways and takes a look at his pompously red attire, wondering if he too has had to endure the inconvenience of dressing as suggested by others.

 

“Yes, I think you are not the only one.” He keeps his eyes fixated on the far end of the room were Maleficent stands still, watching vigilant with her chin high and a gentle smile on her face as people keep their distance but not their bold attention away from her.

 

Phillip follows his look. “Oh, yes. People’s fears are a resilient thing to battle against, I’m afraid.”

 

“She is most certainly not battling herself. I’m sure you could tell the difference.” Phillip promptly nods and then silence stretches like the elastic inconvenience it can be, and Diaval is not entirely ashamed to admit that he enjoys the building discomfort in the boy.

 

“Aren’t you wary of her at all?” the boy asks at last, still looking in Maleficent’s general direction. “When she is in a really bad temper, I mean.”

 

Diaval frowns and looks at him directly in the eye. “Why would I be?” he asks daring him to speak his mind.

 

“She is really powerful. She could hurt you if she chose to do so.”

 

Diaval takes in the fresh face of the boy, the open curiosity in his eyes untainted by prejudice and he sighs. It seems that once again, the important lessons are left for him to teach.

 

“Should we only love the harmless and the weak then? Love the firefly for its dim light instead of the sun that can burn your skin?” Diaval makes a face and pats him not too lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I could live without the firefly at night but I couldn’t do it without the sun, could you?”

 

“No, I guess not,” says the prince confused and Diaval smiles sweetly as a spider smiles to a fly. “But tell me, young Phillip, do you consider then Aurora to be harmless and weak enough to love?”

 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare—” starts the boy almost comically horrified. “She is most certainly the Sun and not a firefly.”

 

This time Diaval nods approvingly until the boy chooses to talk again. “But this particular Sun can’t turn me into a slug with a snap of her fingers, can she?”

 

Diaval rolls his eyes and desires for a moment to be in his crow shape so he could sting the prince with his beak.

 

“Oh young one, your naivety is almost endearing. Becoming a slug? That’s what you think will make you suffer the most? Try being a dog, try getting a part of yourself stolen, try getting your heart broken."

 

The boy soundly inhales and his attention shifts, searching with his eyes for Aurora among his peers. "But then... how can you be safe?"

 

Truly, Diaval is starting to suspect that all humans seriously neglect the education their descendants in favour of only goodness knows what other endeavours.

 

"Has nobody ever told you, young one? You can never be safe the same way flying through gusts of wind is never safe. But trust me, wingless prince, there is not a better way of ploughing the skies."

 

—————————-

 

5

 

The new princess is born under the starriest night of the summer. The first child of Queen Aurora and King Phillip is a lovely girl with pale skin, rosy cheeks and raven-like black hair.

 

Human and magical creatures alike come from every corner of the kingdoms to pay their respects to the new heir to the crown. The doors of the castle are kept wide open for the queue of people that goes all the way from the patio to the throne room, and when the sunset arrives, food and shelter are offered to the travellers while the royal family retires for the evening.

 

“She is lovely,” Maleficent murmurs so as not to wake up the newborn.

 

They are in the private rooms of the new princess where all is warm and cosy. The four of them gather around the wooden crib where the girl placidly sleeps.

 

“It would mean a lot to me—to us,” says Aurora looking briefly at her husband, “if you would give Aideen your blessing, Godmother.”

 

“Aideen?” says Maleficent with eyes bright and voice soft. “That’s a fairy name.”

 

“Yes,” says Phillip with a little nod and Maleficent breath catches in her lungs, the obvious tribute almost too much to take.

 

She smiles fondly and extends her arms graciously. “May you always be respected by all that you meet, loved by those you will love and known in both kingdoms alike for your wisdom and your fairness.”

 

There is a soft glow that floats from the fairy’s hands to the fairy-named as both young parents watch complacently.

 

“She is a comely little being,” says Diaval taking a step towards the crib. “With beautiful coloured hair, too.” He caresses the princess dark hair, as softly as it were the down of a duck fledgling. It is then when he notices the engraving at the head of the crib, an oval shaped frame with the relief of a vigilant raven finely sculpted on it, watching over the sleeping Aideen. His fingers leave the soft head of the princess by their own volition to follow the carved lines of the ornament.

 

“I had you to take care of me when I was little,” says the queen approaching him from behind and resting her chin over his right shoulder. “I wanted her to have the same privilege.”

 

Aurora kisses him on the cheek and he wishes for a second that his body was shifted to a bird, where it’s easier to hide his emotions, concealed under a beak instead of all the nonsensical human features that sometimes seem to have consciousness of their own. Eyebrows and lips and muscles that flinch and twitch and tremble by their own accord. An unexpected tear falls slowly down his cheek as silently Phillip picks up his daughter and puts her safely into Maleficent caring arms. “There,” he says, “Aideen needs some quality time with her fairy Grand-Godmother.” He smiles as he carefully retreats, slowly, putting a soft kiss on his daughter’s tiny hand before accompanying his wife to the entrance of the room.

 

“She is so precious,” says Maleficent.

 

“We’ve managed quite handsome descendants,” he replies, his voice barely catching at the end of the sentence.

 

“Yes.”  
  


Maleficent leans over, her lips sweet and tender over his and baby Aideen protected in between their bodies as they kiss.

 

“Come, come with us,” says Phillip, the door of the room already open and his hand extended in invitation. “The candles and fairy flames are lit and the painter is ready for the royal family portrait,” he says as some sort of explanation. “We can’t get started without the three of you.”

 

Maleficent briefly wonders when the child he used to be became this kind and sensible young man. It makes her wonder briefly what else she might have missed while she wasn’t looking.

 

“Well, well,” says Diaval as soon as they start to walk, interrupting her train of though, “not bad for the total inexistence of true love, wouldn’t you say, Mistress?”

  
Maleficent laughs, soft and sweet so as not to disturb little Aideen and if Diaval feels an electrical shock of magic running through his limbs he can’t say it matters much to him.


End file.
